To Win a War
"Your Majesty." The words uttered were quiet, muted. "Yes?" "They are coming. They have declared war." The lack of urgency surprised the king as he raised his eyebrows and leant back on the chair. "So be it. Send out the troops. Send the spies to find out their locations. Quickly, before they come." "Yes, Your Majesty." The informant scurried away. The king remained sitting on his chair, yearning for the lust of blood, the passion of war. He yearned to fight again, after all those years of inactivity. The thought of war sparked his mind, and he smiled. Time for war. *** It was not the best day for Boris Betterad. His country's most hated enemy, Ahilon, had declared war over a simple matter of a tiny group of islands sitting placidly between the two countries. As one of his regiment's top soldiers, the colonel tried to promote him to general, but there was not a place for him, so he remained as a soldier. One of the Riders, in fact. He was content with that position as he did not like having to plan out everything, the anxiety of having to control his underlings. But it was time for war. He liked fighting, but not war. War was dangerous. Anyone could die from anything - poison, arrows, knives, swords... Anything that could multilate, that could harm. Although his warhorse, Bloom, was always ready for war (if need be), she was laming from lack of fighting, unlike the previous years where she picked fights with other horses. Now she couldn't, though, and that was what that worried Boris. "Company A, assemble!" shouted General Turrin. With deft fingers, Boris saddled his horse and leapt onto it, steering Bloom to the assembly area. A thousand other Riders gathered, their horses cantering gracefully. When the head count was over, General Turrin spoke in his deep, majestic voice. "Company A, you are to head to the Black Cove to ambush the enemy. No one must escape. When you win, take all the prisoners to Block E for questioning. Understand?" "Yes, sir" resonated throughout the courtyard. The general nodded his head, then gave the sign for them to march out. The distance was not much, and the company soon reached their destination, about three quarters an hour earlier than the enemy. There, a private ushered them into their designated positions, where they lay in wait, camoflagued by the surrounding greenery and the many dull coloured trees. Bloom whinnied and pawed the ground, restless. Boris reached up a hand and stroked the warhorse, calming her down. A tiny speck bloomed in the distance, growing larger and larger. A three-note bird whistle sounded, and the company got ready to face the enemy. As the enemy marched closer, the men got more restless. Soon, when the Ahilonean army was close enough, a volley of arrows pierced through the air, firing at a remarkable speed, most finding their targets - throats, eyes, chests - and picking off the enemy one by one. Cries sounded; shouts chorused; screams boomed. And through all these, the Riders struck. Boris nudged Bloom, charging towards the frontmost of the confused army, spear brandished, sword glinting in his left hand. Foot soldiers were no match for the Riders, but horses were easily wounded. Slicing the throat of an Ahilonean with his sword, he swept with his right hand, multilating numerous enemies on his right. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an Ahilonean aiming an arrow at his horse. He threw his spear over, striking the bull's eye. The Ahilonean froze, then slowly collapsed. As if knowing that he was the star of the troop, hundreds of Ahiloneans gathered around him, trying to reach for his horse, his un-amored areas, but he deflected them all with a twitch of his second spear and his marvellous sword. Blood squirted into the air, producing a terribly metallic smell. That did not bother Boris, as he was coming to the heart of the army. The general of the Ahilonean regiment was shouting orders to his underlings, trying to regroup his scattered and battered army. Upon seeing Boris, though, he stopped, transfixed by the sight of Boris charging towards him. Then, in a split second, his sword was drawn and he sliced Boris's spear in half as it sailed through the air. A lesser soldier hacked at Boris's horse, but Bloom danced away and continued galloping towards the general. All around Boris, the scenes of battle seemed to cease as his concentration focused on the general. He had no more spears, but he had to reach the general in order to score victory. Bloom strained to quicken her pace. The glint of the sunlight gleamed. He went closer, closer, closer... The clash of swords. The half-crazed look in the general's eyes. The scream of arrows launching. Then silence. Everything stopped to watch the two of them. Even the birds, the clouds, they all stopped. The slash of the general's sword broke the silence, and instinctively Boris's sword hurtled outwards to block it. For some odd reason, nobody else bothered to fight; no Ahilonean bothered to shoot Boris; none of the company bothered to assault the general. Boris leapt sideways out of Bloom's saddle, swiping at the general, but the general blocked his blow with sheer brute strength. He caught the flat side of Boris's blade with two of his fingers, then flung it away with Boris still gripping on it. Bloom rushed to catch Boris and she did, Boris landing roughly but still in one piece. Gasps sounded, then hushed. Although Boris was wowed by the general's strength, that did not diminish his determination to kill him. In fact, it fed it. When he got close enough, he feigned a strike at the general's throat, then ducked low and thrusted. The blade pierced the general's flesh and bloodied one of his vital organs. The general keeled over and sunk slowly to the crimson ground, hatred in his eyes. What that had been silence before was then cheers, then the same old sound of battle again. Boris attacked a stray enemy inching behind him, then approached the general to search him for battle plans. The malevolent air around the general brought chills to Boris, although he did not know why. As he knelt down beside the general, a sudden whip caught his attention as the general lifted his arm and shoved the sword with what little strength he had left. The sword slid in with little resistance, leaving Boris only seconds of life. Fury spread throughout Boris, and with all his remaining strength, he placed his hands around the general's neck and squeezed. The general went still, and darkness closed in... Category:Tragedy Category:War